The Zoopers are Coming
by Zoop
Summary: Series of one-shots abusing the hell out of "The Hobbit" movie franchise, largely from jealousy because none of MY fanfiction has ever been offered a movie deal. Out of sheer spite, I'm siccing Zooped up ladies on the Orcs of "The Hobbit". I may even nail a Dwarf or two if I'm feelin' squirrelly. Hell, there's no limit to my wrath. Look out, boys, the Zoopers are coming...
1. The Laketown Vixens

**THE ZOOPERS ARE COMING**

... in which many figures who are either not supposed to be in _The Hobbit_ movies at all, or are hopelessly misrepresented therein, frequently act completely out of character ...

... and several unsuspecting Orcs find themselves in some unexpected situations ...

... with girls ...

... much to their dismay ...

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><p><strong>The Laketown Vixens<strong>

Kaasak's eyes slowly fluttered open. Head pounding, he tried to recall where he was. Maybe if he knew that, he'd know why he was there. Learning _that, _he might then find out why the hell he was tied to a chair.

Vague memories of tracking... something short. Lots of short somethings... In barrels? That couldn't be right.

Attempting to scent the air was a wasted effort; his nose was stuffed up. The air was heavy with moisture, playing havoc with his sinuses. He drew a deep breath through his mouth, then closed it tight and _blew_.

Ah. Much better. Good sized bogey on the floor, too. Very satisfying. Clean wooden floor, at that. Odd.

It was a Mannish house, he noted as he looked around curiously. No Men in it at the moment, but their stink was on _everything_. Hmmm... male Man stink he knew, but what was the other? His eyes narrowed.

Outside of the cluttered, fishy-smelling house, he heard a light voice speaking excitedly, coming closer.

_Mummy,_ he whimpered, and yanked ineffectually against his bonds. They were tightly done up; getting tighter with each desperate tug. He might have admired the knotting under other circumstances.

"You _never_ approve of the lads who come round," the female voice complained. "So I thought, this one's _not _like the others. I'm _sure_ you'll like him. Hurry!"

"What's the hurry, Sigrid?" a male voice chuckled. The Orc grabbed the seat of the chair and tried to hop it toward the back door. "Do you fear he'll fly away before I can meet him?"

"In a manner of speaking..."

"He's done up proper," a second, higher female voice chimed in. "Can't move so much as a _finger_!" She sounded quite proud. Kaasak scuttled his feet rapidly against the floor, pushing the chair backwards. The chair legs scraped loudly across the wood.

"Quickly, before he gets away!" the first female cried as the door latch rattled. Kaasak froze and stared at it in horror.

Worse than the tales of Durin's Bane, more creepy than the slinking thing in the deep depths below Goblintown, harder to outrun than a Mirkwood spider...

There were two of them, young girls of Laketown with shining eyes and joy-filled faces. Kaasak didn't even notice the male; his wide, staring eyes beheld the last thing he thought would ever catch him.

Laketown Vixens. He'd rather be skinned alive.

"Oh, look at him, da!" the elder girl cooed. "Isn't he lovely?"

"Um... yeah," the startled Man said. "That's... not exactly the word I was looking for."

Catching his tone and apparently not liking it, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. Kaasak automatically cringed.

"You _never_ like _anyone_!" she shrieked. "They're never good enough! Well, I found this one myself, and if you don't like him it's because you're just plain _mean!_"

"Or... it's because he's an Orc, dear," the Man replied delicately.

"I can wash him!" she countered. "Oh, don't worry about all this dirt and filth. It'll come right off. Tilda and I'll dress him up nice and teach him how not to swear. We can show him how to use a fork and drink tea properly..."

"Can I braid his hair?" the other girl asked excitedly.

Whimpering desperately, the Orc once more made a bid for freedom, scooting the chair back another foot. One leg met empty air, and the entire affair toppled over, spilling Kaasak into the privy.

It was the lesser of two evils.

"Oh, isn't he adorable?" the younger one simpered, beaming at him as he struggled on the floor like a tipped tortoise. "Can I have one too?"

"Well...," their father wavered, and Kasaak gave him a pleading look. "If you promise to clean up after him..."

"Oh da, thank you!" the elder Vixen cried, leaping up and down and hugging her father. The younger of the two girls leaned over their helpless victim and grinned.

"Next time you boys come round," she promised, "I'm getting one of my own."


	2. Don't Piss Off the Missus

*** He's supposed to be dead; she's not even in the story. But when they get together... _FIREWORKS! ***_

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><p><strong>Don't Piss Off the Missus<strong>

She was on the warpath. Azog winced, knowing by the thundering of her feet on the stone walkway above that he was in for it in a major way.

_It was just a frickin'_ **dwarf** was no longer the shrugging excuse he thought it would be.

Glaring at his son, who stupidly let it slip in the first place, Azog contemplated once more the wisdom of making heirs. 'Easily discarded and replaced when they screw up' came briefly to mind as he paced in agitation, awaiting the storm. It didn't seem that making a replacement would be happening after _this_.

"Her handmaiden's a looker," Bolg offered by way of an excuse.

"Always running your mouth," Azog snapped. "All you need is a pretty face and you babble like a fool! If you think I'm taking the fall for this, you're nuts. I will _so_ throw you under the horse cart, boy!"

"Like it was _my_ fault!" his son barked defensively. "Off on one of _your_ damn errands. How was I supposed to know the little runt had a 'can't touch this' sign on?"

"Did you bother _looking_? Or was your head up a skirt?"

Puffing up indignantly, Bolg growled, "Not when I'm on the job, _dad_."

"Don't get fresh with me," Azog warned, leveling a finger in Bolg's face. "You damn well better not sit there and smirk when she gets down here." His son folded his arms over his chest and muttered sullenly under his breath.

Azog's gaze rose to the vaulted ceiling. He could follow her progress down the open stairs curving around the ruins of Dol Guldur's main tower: roughly shoved Orcs flew off the steps and plummeted screaming to the floor frequently as she passed.

_Dammit_, Azog thought with an internal whimper.

When she finally arrived in all her glory on the ground floor, Azog steeled himself. He did not appreciate the stealthy slide Bolg executed to put himself behind his father and out of the line of fire.

"My love," Azog greeted her, spreading his arms out welcomingly. "It's been days. How do you fare?"

Knocking his barbed hand out of the way, Tauriel snapped, "I asked you _one_ favor! Just one! Am I talking to myself? Is that what's going on here? I'm _talking to myself_?"

"Dearest...," he protested ineffectually as her grey eyes fell on Bolg.

"_You_!" she hissed. "I see you hiding behind him! I might have known. Which one of you did it, huh? Which one? Whose ass am I going to have to kick?"

The Orcs, father and son, stood frozen for a moment, weighing the survivability of her wrath. Both simultaneously pointed a finger at the other.

"That's how it is, then?" Tauriel growled, folding her arms over her chest. "All I wanted was a little bit of fun. Just a _little_. And you cheap bastards couldn't set aside your _petty grudges_ and let me have it." Turning on Azog, she snarled, "_You_ are on the couch until the Fourth Age, Mister!"

"Ah, come _on_!" Azog moaned. "I wasn't even _there_!" Grabbing Bolg by the collar, he yanked the younger Orc to the front. "_This_ little bedsore's the one who killed him!" Shoving Bolg to the side hard enough to send him sprawling, Azog went on, "And look at this. It's not like he'll ever really _leave_ you. I've got him right here, in a place of honor." He gestured to the freshly sewn Dwarven face decorating the front of his kilt like a sporran.

Giving the Orc leader a withering look, Tauriel snapped haughtily, "Like that's a satisfactory substitute. And you only put him there so you could hump the back of his head! That was _not_ for my benefit!"

"Well... this might cheer you up," Azog offered, maneuvering his penis through the open mouth. Waggling his eyebrows, he said, "Eh? Looks like fun, right? Give him a big kiss?"

Softening a bit, she shifted her stance to slightly less hostile. "That's not at all funny."

"How about this: Bolg, come and show her how you look in the beard."


	3. Inappropriate Workplace Behavior

*** Falling three hundred feet and landing on a Goblin's too easy... ***

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><p><strong>Inappropriate Workplace Behavior<strong>

Up to his ears in dishes was preferable to nose-deep in the offal his new 'employers' called dinner. Neither was worse than playing dodge the groping fingers with Old Bogey, though.

That probably wasn't her name, but Bilbo couldn't care less. All he knew was that the decrepit Goblin matron running the kitchens that served the Great Goblin himself was a crazy loon who had it locked in her thick-skulled melon that he was another Goblin. Apparently one who'd courted her for some bizarre reason about five hundred years ago.

"Oi! Step it up in'ere!" Grinnah called from the entryway. His ferrety face was scrunched up like Vyvyan's when he was confused. "His mightyness wants his vittles."

"I've only got two hands!" Bilbo retorted, yet he slung the barely-rinsed metal plates onto the drying rack with a bit more gusto. Grinnah was Bogey's grandson, and probably the one who'd suggested the Hobbit's assignment.

It could've been mucking Warg pens. The Scribe had that on his docket as well. Now that he'd been at it for a few days, Bilbo didn't think Grinnah's recommendation came from any attempt at kindness.

"Don't be rushin' him, dearie," Old Bogey's gravely voice avalanched from the pantry. "He's got fishies to give me yet." The ground trembled, signaling the warty bag of snot's approach.

"Help me," Bilbo breathed to whoever might be listening.

As the wide-hipped, flabby-armed, sagging breasted, pustule-covered, near-sighted and memory-blighted old Goblin lumbered into the room, Bilbo instinctively considered possible escape routes. Pointless, of course, but instincts rarely recognized logic.

"There's me dove," Bogey crooned, sidling up to the Hobbit and clumsily fumbling his bum in what she probably thought was an irresistable proposition. Bilbo shuddered down to his hairy toes.

"Look, it's not that I'm not _interested_," he told her for the thousandth time as he deftly sidestepped the second grapple attempt at the front. "Grinnah, tell your granny, will you?"

"He ain' innerested, Gran," Grinnah obligingly repeated, leaning against the rock wall with an amused grin on his oversized face.

"Whar's yer fishie, eh?" Bogey rumbled teasingly as she hip-checked the table in her pursuit of the scuttling dishwasher, sending the table thudding against the wall. "Show us yer fishie, there's a dear."

"I'll have you know," Bilbo snapped as he backpedaled past the doorway, now blocked annoyingly by his assailant's kin, "that I am not that sort of... Goblin. Stand back, madam. I don't want to have to use this." He brandished a long-handled soup ladle for emphasis.

"Just a little tug, whar's the harm, eh?" the baggy-skinned crone begged. "Ain't had me a fishie tuh play with fer an age, I hasn't. Let us see it, at least. Come along now."

"I am not...," the Hobbit cried, his voice cracking alarmingly as he leaped out of reach of Bogey's unexpectedly deft pants-grab. "I am not going to show you my... erm... fishie, nor shall I let you... I beg your pardon, madam! Stand down!" She'd climbed upon the table and was crawling toward him, a leering grin on her huge face.

"Yer only makin' it worse," Grinnah advised. "Want'er to haul out'er titties like yesterday?"

Bilbo shuddered. He was currently staring at the tops of breasts so huge, bumpy, and hairy that they might easily be mistaken for scrub brush-covered dunes. Only a thin ragged shift that had obviously been through the war and was spending its retirement shackled to the thankless duty of shielding the world from an obscenity it was not prepared to witness, spared him a repeat of the prior day's horror.

He promptly unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor.

"Oooooh," Bogey sighed, settling herself in for a long stare. "Ain't it precious."


	4. Dating Secrets of the Noldor

*** Panicked Dwarves, Warg-mounted Orcs, rabbit sleds, frantic chase scene... the only thing missing was _Yakety Sax_... and a lonely she-Elf... ***

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><p><strong>Dating Secrets of the Noldor<strong>

His face was pressed into the dirt, a knee at the back of his neck. Graug couldn't shift to clear his nose and mouth, nor could he seem to move the rest of his body. Whoever was sitting on him was tying up his wrists as well as pinning him helplessly to the ground.

_Well, **this** sucks_, he mused, spitting dirt from his mouth.

"Oh good, you're awake," a lilting voice said. "This would be dreadful if you were dead."

Oh crap. A she-Elf. They were worse than those Laketown bints.

"Uh... somethin' you want?" he ventured, trying to keep his voice steady while various diversionary tactics rattled desperately through his mind.

"Don't get me _started_," she groaned, sliding off him. He rolled his neck to relieve the ache she'd caused. Graug had a feeling this one would prove to be a pain in a few other places as well. "Do you have _any idea_ how uptight Elves are?"

"I think I can guess," he replied absently as he surreptitiously stretched and flexed his wrists. Nope, those knots were good and tight. _Dammit._

"Always reading books and scrolls," she lamented, warming to the subject. "Debating about who could most likely be blamed for the fall of Gondolin, how many times Glorfindel has returned from Valinor, and whether the frickin' peaches are likely to be late this season because of the frost. Gaaaah!"

"So... whattaya want with me, then?" Graug asked. The slope down which he'd tumbled when some Elf unseated him earlier seemed horribly steep, endlessly long, and so far out of reach he may as well be buried alive. With a she-Elf. Who the hell had he pissed off?

"You're not at all like an Elf," she told him matter-of-factly, and he snorted with amusement.

"You got that right," the Orc agreed. At least she'd recognized that he was green; good for her.

"And at the moment, you're rather at loose ends."

"Humph," he grunted. "My commander probably thinks I'm dead, so yeah." Eying the Elf suspiciously, he added, "I'm guessin' you got somethin' in mind, eh?"

"Oh yes," she nodded determinedly. "I have two tickets to see _The Slipper and the Rose_ and absolutely _nobody_ wants to go."

"Uh... yer kiddin' me," he said after a stunned moment.

"Not at all," she replied, shaking her head. "All you have to do is spruce yourself up a bit. And... well... look like you're enjoying yourself."

"I might if we was gonna be seein' _Into the Woods_," he groused. "You want a good fairy tale musical, that's yer play."

"Oh, please!" she scoffed. "It's so contrived!"

"Covers yer Cinderella story better'n that crap you got tickets fer," he snorted. "It ain't all about fancy shoes and happy ever afters, yuh know."

"Says you. Look, we'll see mine, I'll get tickets to see yours, then we'll compare. Fair enough?"

Narrowing his eyes, Graug regarded her suspiciously. "Do I gotta wear a tie?"

"No," she snapped. "It's community theater."

He hesitated, chewing his lip. "Can I get Milk Duds?"

"Of course," she sighed. "And popcorn if you wish. Anything you like."

"You gonna untie me, or am I gonna walk in there lookin' like yer boyfriend under house arrest?" he grumbled.

The she-Elf rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, now will you come?"

Huffing resignedly, he growled, "Yeah, sure."

As she cut his bonds and helped him sit up, Graug leveled a threatening finger in her face. "You better not shirk on yer promise. I wanna see _Into the Woods_ after your crap is done."

"I _promise_," she said impatiently. "Now come on; the curtain goes up in an hour and you have got some major sprucing to do."

"No flowery stinkin' crap," he warned as she shoved him ahead of her down the tunnel to Imladris. "I got a reputation to protect."


	5. Novelty Shots

*** The missed opportunity... ***

* * *

><p><strong>Novelty Shots<strong>

"Oh, that's lovely, that is," Unglagondis hissed as she slowly made her way in a circle around the hanging cocoons. Some still struggled and squirmed; the leader spat impatiently and several lackeys scuttled swiftly to the still-mobile victims to give them another dose.

"Good, good," she nodded approvingly. "Have we enough film?"

Her second, a smaller male with a tendency toward speaking out of turn, simpered delicately, "Um, we've gone digital, your immenseness. Had you forgotten?"

"Múlungol," she sighed, "I forget nothing. Everyone knows true art is captured on 35mm. Get my camera and _shut up_." Her subordinate hastily rushed away to fetch the requested item. Unglagondis gazed at the dangling bodies and let her imagination run wild. "Bring me two," she commanded, and four spiders dutifully rushed into the thick of the Dwarvish stalactites to carry out their orders.

Cut from their cocoons and utterly paralyzed from the spiders' venom, the two Dwarves lay still and terrified before the huge she-spider. "Perfection," she murmured, looking them over. One's nearly white hair was braided quite elaborately, as was his beard. The other had bushy grey hair and a braided beard, parted in twain with the ends attached to his cloak. Unglagondis chittered happily.

"Stand this one up," she directed to her minions. "Turn a little to the left. That's it. Oh for heaven's sake, _set his feet apart or he'll fall over again._ Honestly. Now lean him backwards a little. _A little_, dammit!" Sighing, Unglagondis shook her small head and worried her brow between closed eye clusters. "Get him up."

"Your camera, majesty," Múlungol said discretely at her side.

"Yes, yes, hang onto it for a sec," the great spider snapped impatiently. "Now raise his hands. Make him look surprised. _Surprised_, not aghast! Someone do something about that look on his face, will you? I'm looking for 'O' face here! All right, that's... that's probably good enough. Now the other one. Drag him in front of his fellow. Just there, yes. All right, put his hands at his throat and pull out his tongue. No, not _all the way_ out! So it _sticks_ out! Dammit, I'm working with amateurs. Now raise his legs. _Straight up!"_

Unglagondis circled the posed Dwarves, eying them critically and tweaking their position a touch here and there. Finally satisfied, she nodded and scurried back to her place. Extending a foreleg toward her second, she silently indicated it was time. Múlungol dutifully handed over the old-style 35mm camera with giant telephoto lens. Without looking at the camera first, Unglagondis raised it to her most artistically-inclined eye cluster.

"What the...?" she shrieked, jerking back. "Get this thing off! I just saw straight up that Dwarf's nose!"

"Apologies! Apologies!" Múlungol cried, hastily taking the camera back and fumbling to remove the lens. "Last time we used it, you were taking pictures of Thranduil's boudoir."

"Ah yes," Unglagondis murmured appreciatively. "That Elf has style." Retrieving the camera, she checked the light meter and framed up the shot. "My Tumblr followers are gonna _love_ these," she muttered, and pushed the button.


	6. Prostetnic Jeltz, Eat Your Heart Out

*** Way worse than getting your head lopped off by an Elf... ***

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><p><strong>Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz, Eat Your Heart Out<strong>

"Death is upon you," Mauzur boldly proclaimed, the Elf Prince's blade pressed firmly against his Adam's apple and his fist clutching a bunch of the Orc's hair. "The flames of war are upon you."

Thranduil slowly turned his head and regarded the over-confident Orc kneeling on the floor of his throne room. "No, friend. Death does not come for me. Nor will it cast its eye upon _you_ any time soon." Gesturing imperiously, he smirked at his suddenly uncertain captive. A nearby guard hustled away. "Though you may come to wish it were otherwise.

"There is no greater punishment for servants of the Shadow, I have found," the Elven king droned on, pacing before the Orc. Mauzur's eyes darted back and forth, wondering what the hold up was. He knew the promise of freedom was a lie; apparently the expected decapitation was also not in the offing. Beside him, the Princeling sighed and shifted his weight.

"Can we get on with it, then?" Legolas groused. "He stinks and his hair's dirty."

"Patience, my son," Thranduil admonished loftily. "Our dutiful captain is on her way. Would you rather it were _you_ in her hands?"

Legolas swallowed audibly and vigorously shook his head. Mauzur's face took on a bit more worry than he would otherwise have liked.

The heavy footfalls of the captain of the guard were heard moments before the she-Elf flounced into the throne room. Her face was pale and smooth, her hair long and delicately auburn. The gentle points of her ears peaked teasingly through her lovely tresses.

Mauzur gagged.

"Ah, Tauriel," the Elf king proclaimed grandly, "so good of you to join us. Another worthy candidate has arrived and is most anxious to attend you."

Her expression lit up like a beacon, blinding all in the room. Even the Elves. "Really?" she squealed with delight, clasping her hands together. "I've got _so_ many new ones, I can't _wait_ to share them. There's this one..."

"That will do, Tauriel," Thranduil interrupted hastily, his normally calm demeanor slightly marred by the terrifying threat. "Why don't you take our new friend here to your... special chamber and... entertain him?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the she-Elf burbled, bouncing on the balls of her feet as the guards hauled Mauzur up to stand between them. "Oh Legolas, are you coming too?"

"No, no, no," the Prince demurred, eyes wide in a panic. "I've, um, got some... things to do. An appointment. Yes, an appointment. Very important. Much as I _love_ your work."

"Oh," she replied, deflating considerably. "Very well." Eying the Orc dubiously, she asked, "Are you certain he appreciates true artistry?"

"I promise he will be quite satisfactory," Thranduil assured her. "Now go. Quickly. And make sure you close the door this time."

"Of course!" she cried happily, and led the guards with their anxious prisoner out of the throne room.

Up and down winding stairs and through cavernous halls they marched. Mauzur had long prepared himself for torture; that sort of thing was expected. He was reasonably confident he could withstand anything the Elves dished out. _This'll be easy_, he assured himself. _Silly prancing she-Elf. Nothin' to worry about._

"I'm just _so_ excited," she gushed as they paused before a heavily-banded iron door the likes of which only a Dwarf keen to guard a great treasure might have built. Or one anxious to contain a dark horror... "Come in, come in!" The door opened, revealing...

A richly-appointed sitting room. Mauzur frowned as he was dragged forward. "What's all this, then?" he couldn't help asking.

"Sit!" Tauriel crowed, gesturing toward a comfortable-looking damask-upholstered chair with leather straps on the arms and foremost legs. The guards untied Mauzur's bonds and forced him to sit on the chair. They immediately buckled him tightly in place.

"Eru have mercy upon you," one of the Elven guards muttered in the Orc's ear, startling him. Straightening, the Elf turned to the she-Elf and asked stiffly, clearly looking for a 'yes,' "Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Yes, quite," Tauriel replied absently as she shuffled papers on the small writing desk. Both guards gratefully sprinted from the room and slammed the door shut. Mauzur distinctly heard a bolt being shot home on the other side of the door. Swallowing with difficulty, he turned his attention back on the she-Elf as she examined parchments.

"Now then," she said, facing the Orc. "Oh dear. You look so frightened. Calm yourself. There is nothing to fear."

"Whatcha gonna do tuh me?" he hissed desperately. He could think of all kinds of things she could do while he was tied down, not the least unpalatable of which was some naughty fondling. That did not appear to be on the docket, however.

"Nothing _sinister_," she admonished, looking affronted. "Now just relax, and we shall begin." Smiling broadly, she raised the sheet of parchment and began to read out loud.

"_Ode to a Small Hairy Bump I Found Upon My Bum One Late Winter's Eve_..."


	7. Warg's Bane

*** Who says Beorn's the _last_ skinchanger? Crap, nothing else in the movie is canon, why should this be? ***

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><p><strong>Warg's Bane<strong>

"I hate waiting," Graku grumbled under his breath. It didn't matter if he spoke too loudly; his Orc rider couldn't speak the Warg language. It took Graku long enough to pick it up himself: all that gagging and choking hurt his throat. If he didn't stay in his Warg form most of the time, it would've been a serious pain in his behind.

"Stuff it," his wife muttered beside him, shaking her head irritably. "I swear, that jerk's given me fleas." Krulfrûm raised a paw and scratched at her ear.

"Oi! Knock it off!" her rider complained, grabbing a fistful of her mane and gripping with his knees to keep from falling off. The skinchanger huffed with annoyance.

"Heh heh," Graku whispered playfully. "Watch this, watch this." Opening his mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn, he slowly lowered himself onto his forelegs, stretching luxuriously. His rider managed to hold on, given the warning that his mount was restless. "Oh, I am _so_ achy! All this Dwarf-chasing! Rrrrnnngg!" Straightening up, Graku stuck his head out and set off a full-body shake that went from nose to tail in a tsunami wave of rippling muscles.

His rider wasn't quite ready for _that_.

"Oh, hey, _whoa!_" the Orc cried as he toppled gracelessly off the skinchanger's back. Graku snickered through bared teeth, sounding uncannily like Muttley. His rider remounted after giving Graku a skin-shriveling glare.

"Amateur," Krulfrûm sniffed with superiority. "Now watch a professional at work." In preparation, she rolled her shoulders a bit and stretched out her neck. When she was ready, she drew in a deep breath. "Oh, the _heat_!" she cried dramatically, and fell over sideways.

"Classic!" Graku laughed appreciatively. "Oh oh, how about if we pretend you're in heat?"

"You're such a juvenile," she sniffed, rising imperiously to her feet. Her rider was dragged to the rear with a broken leg.

"There they are!" the Orc captain roared, and the company of Warg-mounted hunters moved out. Graku and Krulfrûm bolted forward, one rider short but just as eager as the others to have a Dwarf-flavored snack that afternoon.

"Awesome! They're on foot!" Graku barked with delight as they ran. His wife huffed again.

"Not much of a challenge," she muttered. "Morons."

"Hey, watch this!" her husband called, and she glanced over just in time to see him skid to a sudden halt, yelping, "Eek! A mouse!" His rider flew screaming over the skinchanger's head to land face-down in a motionless heap. Two other Warg riders were unable to dodge in time and trampled right over the hapless Orc.

"Damn, I love doing that," Graku laughed as he joined his wife.

"Try to focus," she admonished witheringly. "I haven't had a thick, juicy Dwarf haunch for I don't know _how_ long..."

"Wait, what the hell is _that_?" her husband asked, a startled look on his face. The entire company of Wargs had suddenly diverted from their path and were running in a completely different direction.

"Dammit, I almost have my nose up a Dwarf's butt, and we're breaking _off_?" Krulfrûm screamed in a fury.

"Oh... my... god," Graku said ominously, then his voice took on a much more high-pitched, childish quality than it usually did. "_Bunnies!_ Look, honey, bunnies pulling a sled!"

Having spent too much time in Warg form, there were some things the skinchangers couldn't deny. Even Krulfrûm couldn't resist _this _offering. "Geez, _look_ at'em! So frickin' _scrumptious!_"

"I am gonna eat every _one_ of those!" her husband vowed, pouring on some extra speed.

"Not if I get there first!" she cried, shouldering past him. A couple of equally ecstatic Wargs ahead of them, their riders frantically trying to turn them back toward the fleeing Dwarves, received vicious bites to the flanks to slow them down as the riderless skinchangers sprinted by.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah!" Graku huffed with every thundering step. "Come to daddy, you delicious little morsels."

The Rhosgobel Rabbits, guided by a slightly mad-looking wizard with an odd crusty white streak in his hair, darted around boulders, through trenches, and over hills, leading the slavering Wargs on a merry chase. When their work was done, and not one of their number had so much as been sniffed by a Warg, they retired to their burrows underneath Rhosgobel and reflected on the day.

"Couple of'em weren't Wargs," Fizz noted, leaning back in his easy chair. A couple of his older kits massaged the hare's large feet.

"What's that, dear?" his mate, Pug asked from the larder.

"Weren't Wargs," he repeated. "Couple of'em. Swear they was skinchangers. Ain't seem them folk in awhiles."

"Well, if they're taking up with Orcs, they're no better than they should be," Pug sniffed as she carried a platter of greens and roots to the table.

"Heh heh," Fizz chuckled. "Shoulda seen'em. One look at runnin' hares and they were all like, 'who let the dogs out.'"


	8. The Burning Question

*** Say it with me... you know you want to... _what the hell happened to Bolg!? ***_

* * *

><p><strong>The Burning Question<strong>

"I will crush you, Elf!" the burly Orc growled in Legolas's ear. His great arms encircled the Elf's winsome frame, squeezing the air from his lungs. Legolas struggled against the Orc's grapple, trying to use his legs for leverage and push his opponent into a wooden beam supporting the second story of the shuttered storefront nearby. All the while, the waters of the lake lapped at the walkways snaking around the houses of Laketown.

Legolas feared that if he heard that sound for much longer, he would have to pee.

As stars burst before his eyes, the Elf cast desperately for a way of distracting the Orc. One thing that had bothered him ever since the fight began came swiftly to mind. Legolas used his last ounce of strength to push the Orc's arms a little outward, enough to get a breath to ask the burning question.

"I can't stand it," he wheezed. "What the hell is up with your face, man?"

Bolg blinked, startled, and eased his stance. "Huh?"

Drawing a grateful breath, Legolas continued, "I mean, come on. All your press photos had you in a beard with this big mop of hair. Now look at you. Whose idea was that?"

"God, don't get me started," Bolg groused, releasing the Elf entirely and stepping back. "I reported in to get made up all nice for my big entrance, and they just slapped this leather whatsis on my forehead and said, 'Yup, yer good tuh go, now get out there and look menacing.' How the hell am I supposed to scare the crap out of Dwarves if I'm not wearing _Dwarves_?"

"Oh, I hear you," Legolas nodded. "I'm supposed to be sixty-some-odd years younger, and look at _me_."

"Cry me a damn river," the Orc growled. "Look at this. Hey, _phweet_!" he whistled. A moment later, a giant Warg bounded up to its master. The great beast's tongue was lolling out happily and its tail was wagging so hard it knocked several barrels right off the walkway into the water. Its bark was closer to that of a high-strung Cocker Spaniel's than a horse-sized canine's. "Shaddap," Bolg grumbled irritably as he rifled the pack on his mount's back. "Here, check this out." He handed a small object to the Elf.

"Oh, yeah, saw these," Legolas nodded. "Just like the pictures." Holding the action figure up and comparing it to the Orc, he shook his head. "They seriously messed things up, didn't they?"

"They sure as hell did," Bolg snapped. "Didn't even make one for my dad until a year _after_ he showed up, then you would not believe this: he's _bigger_ than me!"

"No!" Legolas cried in sympathy.

"Yeah, not even _proportionately_ bigger," the Orc snarled, warming to the subject. "It's like we're not even the same _scale_. Here, let me show you." Diving once more into his pack, he rummaged around and yanked out an Azog action figure. This one got hooked on another in his pack; the second figure fell to the boardwalk with a plastic clatter.

"I'll get it," the Elf offered, bending down.

"No, that's okay," Bolg hastily cried as he dove for the figure in hopes of snatching it back first. Legolas was faster.

"Oh, I _see_," Legolas smirked, waving the Tauriel action figure in front of the Orc's face. "What's this, may I ask?"

Glowering at the Elf, Bolg snatched it back. "None of your business." He stuffed it back in the pack.

"Uh huh." Legolas folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head back, regarding the Orc smugly. "Come on. Out with it."

Bolg huffed and blew air out through clenched teeth a few times, looked around, scuffed his boot on the planks, put his hands on his hips... Finally, his posturing petered out and he sagged with defeat. "I think she's... kinda cute," he muttered under his breath, ducking his head.

"It's all right," the Elf soothed, patting Bolg's shoulder. "Worse things have happened, I'm sure."

"You think she'd... nah," the Orc grumbled, shaking his head. "Probably doesn't even know I'm alive."

"No, I think she's aware," Legolas said encouragingly. "I could put in a good word for you."

Bolg narrowed his eyes. "You'd do that?"

"Sure. What've you got to lose, huh? In fact, you have a better chance than you think. Take a look at this." Reaching into his pocket, Legolas pulled out his cell phone and brought up YouTube. "This went viral so fast it made my dad swoon, he was so mortified." The small screen showed Tauriel swooping in to kiss an Orc, who laughingly denied her. "See that?" He arched his eyebrows and nodded confidently. "Piece of cake."

"Yeah, yeah, I think I can work with that," Bolg nodded, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I mean... I'm not any worse-looking than _he_ is, so..."

"That's the spirit," Legolas grinned, punching the Orc's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I've got her number here somewhere..."


	9. The Big Date, Part 1

*** Because you know... when you give a guy a girl's phone number, the inevitable happens... ***

* * *

><p><strong>The Big Date, Part 1<strong>

Welcome to the Wealthy Dragon's Alehouse. I'm your host, Filmandir, and we have an exciting event ahead of us. We are about to meet the young lady for this evening's adventure, a Silvan Elf named Tauriel.

_That's right, Fil. Hello, everyone; I'm Elvadriewien, but you can call me Elva. I can't tell you how thrilling it is to see these two wonderful kids setting aside their people's lengthy, _**_bloody_**_ hostilities for a chance to just chill out and really make that special connection._

Now, now, Elva: Our leading lady doesn't know just _who_ her date is yet. Won't she be surprised, huh?

_And there she is now! Looking lovely in bubblegum pink..._

Shoes to die for, I must say. Yes, Tauriel clearly comes from an important family up north.

_Indeed. I would hazard a guess that the dress is an Elruniel original._

You have a good eye, Elva. That _is_ an Elruniel; I recognize the distinctive beadwork on the bodice. Something like that must've set daddy back half a year's salary at least!

_Only the best for daddy's little girl! While our brave young lady is waiting for the hostess to seat her at a quiet table in the corner with a single red rose in a delicate crystal vase..._

Lovely touch, Elva.

_Thank you. I'm such a hopeless romantic, Fil. Let's check in with Miss Tauriel and see how she's doing._

* * *

><p>"Oh my god, I'm like freaking <em>out<em>." [flutters eyelashes] [fans face with both hands] "He has like the _hottest_ voice on the phone. All growly and sexy... I'm _dying_."

_Miss Tauriel, did your young man tell you anything about himself?_

"Well, he's like a soldier, and his dad is _totally_ the general or something! Isn't that fabulous? Like, he's _almost_ in charge of a whole army! My daddy would be so excited; he's all about the military, and just goes _on and on_ about his old war buddies and their little 'adventures,' like we haven't heard every single one at least five times, I swear he's getting a little senile..."

_So I gather you're very excited to meet Mr. Bolg?_

"Like, _oh my god_, YES! And he lives right here in Mirkwood, can you believe it? Practically in my back yard, that's so _awesome_!"

_Ah, I see the hostess has finished preparing your table, Miss Tauriel. Do have a seat; I imagine your young man will be along soon._

"I'm so excited! I can't _wait_ to meet him in person!"

* * *

><p>I gather she's excited, Elva.<p>

_Indeed she is, Fil. Oh, here comes the lucky young man now._

My... he's a tall one...

_And not nearly as fashion-conscious as our lady. I anticipate fireworks aplenty for this evening._

Yes, she doesn't seem like the type who'd go for such an... earthy individual, but we've been wrong before! Let's give these two crazy kids a chance, huh?

_Absolutely, Fil. After all, it's Valentine's Day, a day that kindles new love in the... oddest places._

Right you are.

* * *

><p>[shrugs] "Well... I guess... when I talked to her on the phone, she kind of sounded like an idiot, but... you know... that's Elves for you."<p>

Well, kudos to you for going through with it anyway. What are your hopes for this evening?

"Uh... just, you know... chat a bit or something. You aren't gonna have a camera in our faces all night, are you?"

Not at all, Mr. Bolg. We will keep a discrete distance so the magic can happen.

[alarmed] "She's gonna use magic?"

Um... it's just an expression.

"Right." [narrows eyes]

* * *

><p>Lovely man... er... Orc.<p>

_Now let's watch as our man, er, Orc walks up to the table..._

Oh, Tauriel's eyes are closed. She clearly wants to be surprised...

_He's introducing himself and sitting down._

Her eyes are still closed...

_Wait, wait... the eyes are opening... she's seeing Bolg for the first time..._

...

Elva, I think I now know what my nanny was talking about when she used to say 'Life isn't all beer and skittles.'

_My goodness, Fil, it looks like her eyes are wide enough to swim in. She did **not** expect someone like Bolg, did she?_

It would seem she didn't. Still, she appears to be soldiering on. That should impress him, being a... um... military man. Orc.

_He doesn't seem as horrified as she looks, thank goodness. But then, he knew what he was getting into. Our 'spies' have informed us that this little get-together was sponsored by none other than the Prince of the Woodland Elves himself, Legolas Greenleaf!_

Well, that _is_ impressive! And little wonder that the Wealthy Dragon was selected, since this establishment is known to be frequented by Legolas's own father, Thranduil the Elvenking.

_He does like his ale, Fil._

Yes, he does. No finer ale can be had in all of Mirkwood, so be sure to stop by. Tell the barman that Filmandir sent you.

_Also good for a comfortable family outing. The dining room is cozy and separate from the bar, so your little ones won't be jostled by exuberant celebrants._

It looks like the main course has been ordered, so it's up to our two adventurous lovebirds to make small talk until the meal comes.

_Oh, look how nervous Bolg is! He just knocked Tauriel's wine glass over while reaching for the sweetener packets._

Would you say that's a Merlot, Elva?

_Doesn't matter what it is, Fil; it's not coming out of that dress any time soon. Daddy won't be happy about that._

While our lovely couple struggles against all odds, let's pause for a station break. Elva?

_Indeed, Fil. I can't wait to see what happens next!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** To be continued... unfortunately. ;)


	10. The Big Date, Part 2

*** I can feel it. Can you feel it? Yeah, it's coming... ***

* * *

><p><strong>The Big Date, Part 2<strong>

And we're back! Our two little lovebirds are having a time of it, aren't they, Elva?

_Oh my yes, Fil! I caught up with Miss Tauriel on her way to the ladies' room after the soup course. That poor, awkward man..._

Orc.

_... Orc spilled her soup in her lap. He's just so nervous! Here's what the young lady had to say about her first impressions..._

* * *

><p>"Oh... my... <em>god<em>, I had _no idea_ he was an _Orc_!" [anxious hand flutters] "He's _beastly_! Just... _oh god!_"

_Well, I must say you are showing admirable restraint this evening, given the hostilities between..._

"He _totally_ ruined my dress! _Look at this!_ First the wine, _then_ the soup! And it was tomato bisque! It looks like I had a really bad period!"

_Er... but aside from that, what do you think of him?_

"He is so incredibly _ugly_! Oh my god, look at him! Those leather things are _holding his head together_! My father is going to kill me." [takes deep breath] "But... you know... he's kind of... muscular and... big hands... _Really_ big hands..." [muttering] [blushing]

_Miss Tauriel?_

"I am willing to persevere in the face of... It's clear he's _trying_ to be civil. After all, it's just one night, right?"

* * *

><p>Well, while you were accosting our lady guest in the bathroom, I meandered over to the table and asked Mr Bolg what <em>his<em> thoughts were...

It looks from our vantage point that you and Tauriel are having quite an animated conversation. What are your impressions at this point?

[snarl] "If she says 'like' or 'oh my god' one more time..."

Not what you expected, I imagine?

[closes eyes] [counts to 10] "Should've stuck with the action figure. A lot _quieter_."

* * *

><p><em>I see the entrees are being delivered to the table. My goodness, Tauriel has excellent taste. She selected the cheese platter. I, for one, am quite fond of that one, and order it every time I dine here at the Wealthy Dragon Alehouse.<em>

With the complimentary bread, that is indeed a good choice. They bake their bread here on site every day to make sure they serve their patrons the freshest loaves. Crusty on the outside, melt-in-your-mouth soft on the inside.

_Do make the Wealthy Dragon your choice for fine dining. Mention this show, and you'll receive a free appetizer!_

And here comes Mr. Bolg's selection. It's... well, I must say, the Wealthy Dragon does cater to all tastes.

_Um... yes, they do, Fil. I see the waiter has brought a roughly-hewn wooden trencher with a crust of stale bread..._

Are those maggots?

_Absolutely, Fil. Orcs prefer maggoty bread with their meals. The main dish is a whole arm, roasted to perfection. This establishment boasts the finest in Laketown delicacies._

Right you are. Goodness, Tauriel can't take her eyes off the presentation!

_Or her date's vigor. He certainly has a hearty appetite._

You have to admire an Orc's ingenuity, Elva. How _does_ one feast on an arm if not by grasping it at wrist and elbow?

_Quite like corn on the cob._

While our brave youngsters are enjoying their repast, let's talk about the exciting things we have planned for the evening's entertainment.

_Oh, don't spoil it, Fil! Let it be a surprise for our viewers. Although I will say that we had to pull a lot of strings to secure the services of **this** notable figure and his friends!_

This is not something he does everyday!

_Not at all! Now I think we will take a short break and come back when our little couple is ready to embark on the next leg of their romantic adventure!_

* * *

><p><em>Welcome back! And here comes our lovely couple now, fresh from dessert and not a little giddy from a smidgen too much wine, I suspect!<em>

Judging from Mr. Bolg's expression, I'm guessing he stuck with his iced tea, Elva.

_No matter. Oh, the poor dear is having a time of it. Tauriel must have tried three times to get a hold of his elbow, and he's just not having it._

Not the touching sort, I'm guessing.

_Well, there will be touching aplenty as they make their way out into the chilly evening air! He's helping her on with her coat, at least..._

Oops, dropped it. I'm sure he didn't mean to tread on it.

_Did he just grind his heel?_

You're probably mistaken, Elva. And out they go! First they'll have a little stroll down the path along the banks of the River Not-Appearing-in-This-Film, then...

_Oh my! Do you hear that, Fil? Here come the spiders!_

They are an institution here in Mirkwood. One can't have a decent outing without running into a pack of them.

_Our poor couple has been nearly blinded from all the flashes. I suspect Unglagondis has something to do with this._

She does have a large number of followers on her blog; they're about to receive a real treat tonight!

_Ah, our stalwart couple has made it past the paparazzi gauntlet. Look! Their chauffeur for the evening is ready and waiting!_

Don't mind his eccentric manner, folks: he's an excellent driver in spite of what he looks like.

_I think Bolg will like him; they have the same earthy tastes._

Tauriel's a little hesitant, it seems. It is a rather narrow sled. She'll have to sit right up close to Bolg for this ride.

_I do hope Rhadagast installed seat belts after that last fiasco._

Well, come what may, the Rhosgobel Rabbits are raring to go! All they need is the signal and...

_They're off! Oh my, look at how **fast** those little rascals run!_

Miss Tauriel is certainly getting a view of Mirkwood she's never had before!

_I do believe she's screaming with delight, Fil!_

Wait, did you say something?

_I said, she's screaming with delight..._

No, I distinctly heard someone shout, 'Bunnies!'

_Well, look there! It's Graku and Krulfrûm! I haven't seen them since... well, since the last time Rhadagast took a pair of lovebirds on a tour of the river for us._

Those crazy skinchangers; they're not nearly as fast as the Rabbits, but they keep on trying.

_Bless their hearts. I suppose we should call someone; there's bound to be a pair of desperately injured Orc hunters somewhere in the forest needing assistance._

Ah, here they come back around. It looks like our 'Warg' friends have given up.

_Or they were distracted by Dwarves. There were a load of them in town just recently; they may still be around._

If anyone likes their ale, it's a Dwarf.

_How right you are. Oh... oh my goodness. Poor Tauriel! Look at her **hair**!_

That _is_ what happens when you drive full speed with the top down, Elva. Bolg looks like he quite enjoyed himself, at least. He's all smiles!

_She looks quite close to tears. Well, the evening's fun is drawing to a close. Bolg is escorting our young lady to her door..._

Well, not _quite_ her door, Elva. He is an Orc, after all. Being mindful of snipers in the trees, he's seeing her to the border of her father's estate instead.

_Close enough. Oh, look at her, she's so nervous! Her fists are clenched and she's all aquiver. Do you think she's hoping for a kiss, Fil?_

It would seem so, but I don't think Bolg is going to step up. He looks more like a man...

_Orc_.

_... _Orc looking for escape routes. This hasn't been the most _ideal_ date for him, I'm afraid.

_Well, my word! Tauriel, darling! You go, girl! She has just flung her arms about Bolg's neck and stolen a big kiss from the taciturn Orc!_

Not one to stand on ceremony, is she? But look at Bolg. Clearly, he is not the most comfortable with intimacy.

_He looks like he was hit with a fish, the poor thing._

Let's have a chat with our lovebirds and see how the evening went.

* * *

><p>"Oh my god, like, he's... okay, my dad is going to totally blow a gasket, but... <em>I think he's the one<em>."

_I'm so happy for you, Tauriel! When did you first realize Bolg was everything you hoped for?_

"I was thinking I was having _the worst_ time of it, I mean my dress is _ruined_, my hair is _ruined_, and I almost got car sick in the sled, but... I actually had _fun_. And he's all like awkward and doesn't talk much and he's like the biggest klutz, but it was all so _sweet_, you know?"

_I think I do. Well, here's hoping that dashing young man... Orc gives you a call!_

"Oh, I hope he does! I hope _to crap_ he does! I will _so_ go out with him again!"

* * *

><p>This has been a rough evening for you, I can tell. Were your expectations met or...?<p>

[sigh] "My dad is going to kill me... and I don't think I'm gonna stop him."

I see. Anything else you want to say? For example, is there a chance you might be interested in... a follow-up date? Give it another try and perhaps...?

[snarl] "Don't you even. I mean it. _Don't you even_."

* * *

><p>Well, I'm afraid we didn't quite have a love connection this evening, ladies and gentlemen, but there's always hope for next week, isn't there?<p>

_Absolutely, Fil! We have a wonderful couple joining us here at the Wealthy Dragon Alehouse to see whether they're a match made in heaven, or the worst pair-up since Shelob and Treebeard!_

Oh yes, that night was a _disaster_! Until next time, I'm Filmandir!

_And I'm Elvadriewien!_

Happy Valentine's Day!


	11. The Real Reason Why Dwarves Don't Bathe

*** Thorin Oakenshield: Voted Least Likely to Fondle Orc Boobies by the people who don't know him vewwy well, do dey? ***

* * *

><p><strong>The <em>Real<em> Reason Why Dwarves Don't Bathe**

Days of travel can tell on a man, and Thorin was no exception. His clothes were dirty and sweaty, one of his boots had a hole wearing through that would put his sock in a sorry state if he stepped in one more brackish puddle, and he was surrounded by his comrades in arms. All male. Not a decently rounded breast among them.

Okay, Bombur had some hefty tits, but nobody wanted a piece of _him_. He tended to fart when he got excited.

That Thorin and his companions were holed up in Rivendell made things a _little_ easier. At least on the eyes. The architecture may be spindly useless crap, but the eye candy walking around couldn't be ignored. Alas, a discrete inquiry regarding the availability of said candy provoked a horrified response, so Thorin dropped it.

_Uptight gits_, he grumbled.

It was while having a walk around the forest that annoyingly intruded on the Elven buildings, causing no end of infrastructure instability what with the root systems crumbling the foundations all over the place – who the hell planned this city? – that Thorin found his steps had taken him to a stream sparkling with moonlight.

_Great_, he thought, _probably a load of Elves will show up, singing about starlight and moonbeams and other such twaddle. Gimme a good rousing Dwarfish drinking song, that's what's wanted here. Preferably with the drink to go with it. Can't stand dry counties._

Sighing, he muscled his boots off and dangled his feet in the water, letting the stream do most of the dirty work down there. One whiff of the air assaulted by the exposed stench of his boots made him grimace and heft them one by one into the bushes.

A short, surprised squeal came from where his footwear landed, and Thorin immediately leaped to his feet. Thanks to those ambiguously-gendered Elves, he was without any kind of weapon, how convenient.

"Show yourself!" he barked bravely, squinting into the darkness.

"Nar, you first," a harsh, hissing voice retorted. "I ain't that kinda gal."

"Orc," he muttered under his breath, which is where most of his normal speech took place. His nephews gave him no end of grief about it, too. 'What was that? Can you repeat that? I didn't hear you, what?' Idiots. "You're spying, are you? Waiting for me to reveal our plans? Tell you where we're bound? What our purposes are?"

The hidden Orc chuckled. "Listen to yerself. Nar, ain't lookin' fer none'uh that. Kinda hopin' you'd take off the kit and jump in."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Thorin growled, setting his feet apart and placing his fists on his hips defiantly. Then he faltered. "Wait, did you say you were female?"

"So 'gal' means the same round your folk as it does round mine, eh?" she laughed. "Aye, Dwarf. That I am."

Smirking, he nodded. "I see. That's why you're watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's none of your business. You can't fool me."

"You're a right smart little Dwarf, ain'tcha?" she snickered. "If I wanna see me some dangly bits, I don't need to go far fer it. Orcs is always flashin' their todgers at the ladies."

"Hmph," he snorted. "Barbarians."

"Yeah, they's flashin', then they's puttin'em away," she lamented with clear disappointment. "Don't let yuh grab'em or nothin'. Teases, all of'em."

"Uh..."

"Then when yuh _do_ get one'uh them boys on their back, they gets all coy and don't wanna stick yuh," she went on, warming to the subject. "'Yuh ain' s'posed tuh be on top, yuh crazy bint!' Hmph. Like they knows what they's doin' when _they's_ on top."

"Er..."

"Don't wanna put their tongues to work on a gal, neither..."

"Madam!" Thorin interjected with alarm. Clearing his throat, he darted his eyes about, hoping nobody else was around for this embarrassingly frank conversation.

"Whassat?"

"This conversation is at an end," he snapped, searching the ground. Huffing with impatience and a little _more_ embarrassment, he muttered, "Toss me my boots, if you please."

The Orcess chuckled softly. "Nar, yuh want yer booties, yuh gotta work fer'em."

"What sort of 'work'?" he groaned, worrying his brow.

More chuckling, bordering on un-Orcish giggling, answered him. "Mebbe yuh just... keep on with what yer doin'." There was rustling in the underbrush, as of someone shifting position for better comfort. "Yeah," she sighed, "pretend I ain't here."

"How am I to do that?" he snarled. This was positively the most awkward position he'd ever been in. Thorin was briefly grateful for Thráin's death – he would never be able to relate an event like this to his father.

"Use yer'magination," she suggested. "Yuh's probly 'maginin' them Elves is girls. Got news fer yuh: _they ain't_."

"Oh, you've spied on their bathing as well? I thought you said you weren't that sort of girl!"

"Weren't talkin' 'bout _that_," she snickered. "Go on, then. Give us a peek 'fore yuh dive in and go all small on me."

"You wretched pervert," Thorin hissed.

"Then we'll have ourselves a little chat 'bout what kinda gal I _could_ be," she went on provocatively. "Yuh ain't a bad sort, now I look at yuh. Maybe yuh clean up a bit, get that stink offuh yuh... I might be innerested."

"Um... uh... hmmm," he hedged. "I don't think... That is to say, I don't recall inviting..."

"Whut, yuh thinks I needs fancy call-o-graphy 'n gold letterin'? Nar, just drop yer drawers; 'at's invite enough fer me," she snorted with amusement.

"Why don't you show _your_self, then?" Thorin challenged, lifting his chin haughtily. "I'll not even consider your offer until I've had a look at _you_."

After a pause, the Orcess sniffed, "Fair 'nuff." The bushes shook as she rose and stepped into the moonlight. "Whatcha think, eh?" she said, turning in a slow circle with her arms out a bit. "Betcher Dwarf lasses got nothin' on me."

Thorin's bushy eyebrows lifted with interest. Like most Orcs he'd seen, this one had a broad, flat nose, short pointed ears, and thin, wispy hair. There were even wirey hairs around her jawline and dangling from her chin. She wore no armor; just a short, ragged shift with a belt from which she'd hung a dagger and a pouch. Breasts that put Bombur's to shame swelled above the dipping neckline of her shift. Her legs were slightly crooked and muscular. Her feet were large, bare, and clawed. Standing haughtily before him, hands on her hips, she had the look of a woman who'd yank that ear right off your head if you sassed her.

_I'm in love_, Thorin thought.

"Well, then," he said breathlessly, "Let's, erm, get started on that chat, shall we?"

"Now yer talkin'," she smirked.


	12. I Have No Excuse For This

*** There are many green rooms in Zoop's Theatre of the Absurd. This one's full of short people. ***

* * *

><p><strong>I Have No Excuse For This<strong>

Bilbo Baggins had a table to himself in the green room. He also had the most sympathy from the other members of the company. Stacked before him were piles of fan fiction he was trying to sort by topic, pairing, genre, and rating. The 'M-rated Slash' pile was on the floor now, and towered higher than the table's surface.

"Oh dear, not another one," he muttered to himself, tossing another Fem!Bilbo fic on the teetering stack. Glancing over, he sighed with resignation at the prop box next to the table. Inside was a well-worn vagina and pair of boobs. Fresh replacements were, once again, on back order.

"Don't even start your whining," Azog groused. Grabbing a fistful of fics off Thorin's pile, he waved it at the Hobbit. "Ever since I got the title 'the Defiler' by that nitwit, _this_ is the kind of thing _I_ have to put up with!"

"Holy crap, what the hell?" Thorin muttered under his breath as he skimmed the summary of another fic. "How could I _possibly_ respond favorably to your advances after you did all _this_ to the rest of the company _right in front of me_?" Meeting the Orc's furious gaze, he shook his head. "I don't want an Oscar _this_ badly."

Across the room on a loveseat, Bombur settled back with a bowl of Cheetos. "Why don't I ever get a fic?" he lamented to the room at large. "A romantic one, I mean. Don't fat people screw? I'm sure they do somewhere. I've heard they do. But no, all I get is fat jokes."

"Do you even like girls?" Kili asked innocently. Bombur shrugged.

"I like everyone."

"Way to keep your options open, you gorgeous bear," Fili snickered.

"Now _here's_ a promising tale," Balin interjected. Rising from his own desk full of fics, he continued skimming down the page in his hand. "Brave little trendsetter, this one. The Eagles fly us all the way to Laketown and skip Mirkwood entirely." Noticing Thranduil's sour look, he shrugged. "Makes sense. Better than getting dumped on an inaccessible pillar of rock in the middle of no-frickin'-where."

"I don't even care," the Elven King replied with a dismissive wave. "I simply wish that my portrayals were lighter on the child abuse and heavier on describing how desperately difficult it is to raise capable children in a forest full of spiders and Orcs."

"_Really_ difficult, by the looks of things," Azog smirked, nodding toward the large couch in the corner that hadn't seen its occupants come up for air for several hours. Thranduil winced and tried to unsee Legolas performing a tonsilectomy on Mauzur, the Orc from Zooper #6. Surely _by now_, the poor Orc's larynx was spotlessly clean. Surely one or the other must need to _breathe_, for Eru's sake. "Someone should tell him that's no elf-maid," Azog snickered. "Won't be _me_."

"Where is _your_ son, by the by?" Thanduil sneered. The pale Orc gave him a withering look.

"_Busy_," he snapped.

"Oi, what's this about?" Bofur demanded. "That's sixteen fics that got me passin' out under a table, drunk as a lord!"

"Sounds to me like nobody wants to miss the boat on that bit," Dwalin quipped, then burst out laughing at Bofur's indignant glare.

"Oh no," Ori groaned. "They found it. They found the picture. Now I'll be in leather shorts, braces, and angel wings for the rest of the year." Folding his arms on his desk, he lowered his head into them and sagged with defeat.

"Cheer up, lad," Dori said kindly, patting his cousin's shoulder. "It could be worse." Nodding surreptitiously toward Thorin, who had just thrown a handful of Bagginshield fics up in the air in exasperation, Dori said in an undertone, "Be glad you're not one of the stars."

"Ah, sweet!" Kili announced happily, rubbing his hands together. "I've got twenty five mushy romances in a row here. Where's Tauriel?"

Gloin used his thick, impenetrable beard to his advantage as he struggled to sound grave, "I'm afraid she's... indisposed."

Narrowing his eyes, the youthful – and some would argue luscious – Dwarf put his hands on his waist. "What's that supposed to mean? We're due on the set in twenty minutes. Where's she off to?" He immediately looked to Thranduil for a response.

Lifting his elegant hands in a helpless gesture, the Elven king huffed, "Why are you looking at _me_? It wasn't _my_ day to watch her. She's likely off being 'a part of the world' or some such nonsense."

Kili slowly turned to Azog, who curled his lip with disgust.

"Don't. You. Dare," the Orc growled.

Fili chuckled slyly. "Where's the fic for _that_ little business?"

"Who said anything about a fic?" Nori giggled, elbowing Bifur next to him. The hapless cranial axe-bearer just blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Oin shook out his horn, double-checking to make sure one of Thorin's heirs hadn't stuffed a mouse or something in it. "Damned kids and their pranks," he grumped under his breath. Setting the horn back to his ear and nodding with satisfaction, he said, "Well now. What is all this about Bofur playing a monkey's gourd on a goat and Ori wearing lacy brassieres with dangly things?"


	13. Hiding the Evidence

*** Beware the Canon Police – they're comin' to get yuh, PJ ***

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><p><strong>Hiding the Evidence<strong>

There was a haze over the battlefield, obscuring the multitude of dead. Bolg had, at some point, acquired a limp, making his progress slow as he wandered. He had to chuckle quietly to himself so not to disturb the silence; that great bear-man came at him like a charging bull, then slipped spectacularly on a pile of elk dung from the Elvenking's mount and face-planted on his way to the Orc. It was too damn funny to wait around for the great beast to right himself and overcome sheepish embarrassment; Bolg buggered off. The confusion of so many milling about as they tried to kill one another covered his departure. He never ran across the skinchanger again.

There would undoubtedly be a reckoning for that screw-up, but Bolg was determined to stay a step ahead of it for as long as he could get away with it.

Finding the edge of the battlefield, and thus an escape route to the mountains, was proving difficult in the shifting mists. Bolg sighed with annoyance as he found yet another of his enemies blubbing over a fallen ally several yards ahead.

_Sentimental fools_, he grumbled to himself. _Didn't catch me whimpering when my da bit it, did you?_ Still, he felt a momentary hollowness, knowing he'd lost the weapon he'd taken from his father's dead fingers and wielded in vengeance. Broken over some Dwarf's head, as he recalled. That was satisfying.

The mists seemed to waft dramatically aside, revealing the source of the sniveling as a she-Elf. Recognizing her by her flaming red hair, Bolg groaned and his shoulders sagged.

_Just great_, he groused. He'd hoped their last 'encounter' would _be_ the last, it was so blasted awful. But still... maybe another shot... you never knew...

Sighing, he reluctantly dragged himself closer. She was sitting with some smashed Dwarf's head in her lap, dripping all over his dead face. Eyes _and n_ose, how gross was that? Another long-suffering sigh escaped the Orc as he fished a handkerchief out of his kilt. Slight smile, knowing it spent the last day nestled up close to his junk. Smirking, he held it out to the Elf.

"Hey," he said quietly, ducking his chin in greeting. She just stared blearily up at him, then looked at the filthy kerchief. Her pert little nose wrinkled slightly, but she took it from him. She also held it between finger and thumb as though it were a snake. Bolg grinned and settled himself beside her.

"What do you want?" Tauriel asked resignedly.

"Tough break, huh?" he offered, nodding toward the Dwarf. Looking down at Kili's face, she burst into fresh tears.

"He was so... so... so _sweet!_" she sobbed. Without thinking, she dabbed at her streaming eyes. "Ew!" she cried, throwing the kerchief away and vigorously rubbing her irritated eyes. Bolg laughed heartily, earning a hostile glare from the Elf. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" she snapped.

Gradually winding down from his mirth, he winked at her. "Ssshh. Canon Police ain't been by yet. Keep yer voice down."

Tauriel's eyes widened, then darted around. She hastily shoved the Dwarf off her lap, her grief forgotten. "They're here?" she whispered fearfully.

"Finally, yeah," the Orc confirmed. "Saw'em up by the mountain givin' a dressing down to Legolas. Another troop was all up in Thranduil's ass about the elk. Don't get me started about my da. Poor bastard can't even die _late_ and get away with it."

"Oh dear," she breathed. "What are they doing with Legolas?"

"Heh," Bolg chuffed happily. "Showed him the book, and how he wasn't mentioned nowhere, and poof! He disappeared."

The she-Elf stared at him, aghast.

Recovering after a moment, Tauriel pointed to the Orc and repeated, "But... you're supposed to be dead, aren't you?"

Bolg nodded. "Yeah. Beorn slipped in elk shit – something _else_ the CP are bitching about – and missed me. So... I reckon they'll fix that when they catch me." Leaning closer, he winked conspiratorially. "_If_ they catch me."

"You intend to run, then?" she asked hopefully. Bolg nodded.

"They're a load of stuffed shirts, and Middle Earth's a big place," he reasoned with a shrug. "Sooner or later, they're bound to give up. One little Orc; what could it hurt, huh?" He grinned and winked again.

"And one little Elf," she suggested, timidly slipping her hand into his. He glanced down, then met her eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, his expression softening. "Til they get tired of looking."

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><p><strong>AN:** Nope, don't have any insights into the third movie at this point. As if movie canon has any more place in my shorts than book canon. ;)


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